First Warnings
by LaurielS
Summary: As a junior councillor, Erestor has to join a small group of elite warriors on a scouting mission. Trouble ensues, and the first warning signs of the battle to come is revealed. First Silmarillion story. Purely friendship only. Reviews and comments are welcomed.
1. Chapter 1

**First Warnings**

Author's Note: This is my first Silmarillion story, although I haven't yet finished reading it. As such, if this is not consistent with the canon, please leave a review and I will see if I can change it. Also, this means that I am not sure if this story will stay, since I like to be in line with the canon (please do tell me if it is not! And if this story is better fit in the Lord of the Rings). It is in the Silmarillion because it takes place in the second age, a while before the Last Alliance. For now.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or anything except my own ideas.

Here's the story:

**Chapter 1**

_As a junior councillor, you will be assigned to different stations every three months, familiarising yourself with the workings of the Rivendell. This term, you have been assigned to a mission under Captain Glorfindel to scout the surroundings nearby and clear off any potential threats to the city, if possible…_

Erestor stopped reading and folded the letter neatly before keeping it in a small pack. It had been two months now and he knew the contents of the letter by heart, yet he still read it every night as if the letter gave him some comfort. No, it was not that he did not get along well with the warriors, but more that he felt he did not belong to such an elite group of warriors, captained by Lord Glorfindel no less! He had not much experience in scouting missions and despite much assurance from the other recruits, he sometimes felt that his fighting skills were still not up to their match. He could handle a weapon well, but the other warriors just seemed to be near invincible.

Erestor sat watching the snow fall lightly, cloaking the forest in a layer of white as he took the first watch. Most of his companions were asleep now and only two others were awake, keeping a look out in all directions which their enemy might chance them upon. For the past two months, nothing had disturbed their peace, apart from an occasional warg or two, which they felled. Yet it was still better to be safe than sorry.

He stared at the moon hanging in the sky partially covered by clouds, illuminating the forest with its light, before his eyes wandered to the forest that lay beyond. How deceptively calm the forest looked! The branches shook silently as light winds blew on them. Occasionally, a nocturnal bird flew past them and small animals scuttled across the forest floor before disappearing into the earth.

Suddenly, his ears detected a shuffling of feet that clearly did not belong to the forest. Immediately, he signalled to his counterparts, one of whom went towards him. Together, they treaded silently and quickly towards the source of the unnatural sound, and it was only a few miles away when they finally traced the origin of the sound. Both peered cautiously past the bushes and into a small clearing.

Orcs and wargs—many of them! The two stared at the group, horrified. There were enough of them to outnumber the whole group. Their only chance of escaping was in fleeing and seeking reinforcements back in Rivendell. Yet even that might be too late. The orcs were preciously near them and could easily overtake them should they know of their existence. They must make a smooth and swift escape.

Quickly, the pair ran back towards the camp and woke the rest of the group. Erestor was glad that the small fire they had made earlier had been doused at nightfall—he could not imagine the tragedy that would have happened had the orcs traced them through the smoke. Yet he, as were the rest of the elves, was confused: how was it possible that the orcs had come so near them, yet they had not known of their existence? Was it coincidental that the orcs were here? Or were they here to trick them to retreat into a trap?

However, the most important thing now was escape, and he quickly threw these questions to the back of his head. Concentrating on his surroundings, he prayed that the night would remain still and that the dim light of the moon would not give them away. Full armours were worn, weapons were wielded and everyone was in their battle formation, tense, waiting, retreating.

-To be continued-


	2. Chapter 2

**First Warnings**

Author's note: Thank you to those who read the first chapter, and special thanks goes out to my two reviewers! Here's the second chapter, and I hope you will enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or anything, except my own ideas and some unfamiliar character names that I cooked up randomly.

**Chapter 2**

Glorfindel's ears pricked up in the night, catching almost every sound in the forest, taking note of every change in the forest as they treaded as silently as possible. Escape was dependent upon speed and secrecy. They had to avoid the orcs.

Unfortunately and shockingly, their movements were spotted almost immediately. There came a sudden burst of stomping and galloping and very soon, Glorfindel gave the order to head towards their last retreat in the mountains at full speed. Snow was starting to fall, heavier by the second as the winds picked up speed suddenly. It seemed as if it would not be long before a full blizzard hit them, and it was then that Glorfindel realised that there might just be some sorcery controlling the weather, for not only was it strange and rare that blizzards came so early, it was also highly suspicious that there were no warning signs prior to this blizzard. However, he knew that it was no use thinking about this now when everyone was in danger; safety mattered first. Perhaps if they could get to the caves, or even near one of the numerous caves they passed by in the morning, there was a chance that the upcoming blizzard threatening them could camouflage them and impede the orcs' movements.

They galloped off quickly, yet while their horses were tired by the day's activities, the orcs' wargs seemed to be fresh from rest, and it was not long before the distance between them closed. Glorfindel pushed his horse forwards as the rest of the riders did the same. They did not dare risk a head on confrontation with so little warriors and an upcoming blizzard. On and on, on and on, but the caves did not come into view. It should not be long now…

Arrows flew past them as the snow attacked them from the heavens. The warriors had broken their formation a little in order to dodge the arrows, but the formation quickly recovered soon after. They could not afford to break up now: the enemy was too close and too many.

More arrows, yet this time, there were casualties. He could hear some horses being spooked and throwing their riders down. Glorfindel risked a moment's safety and turned his head a little. Most of the warriors were accounted for, some injured and riding on another's horse, others supporting the injured. Yet this caused the horses to slow down in the race where speed was everything, and Glorfindel knew that the thing he had dreaded most would come true ultimately: they would be caught fighting with the orcs with the blizzard in full force. He had to do something to protect his warriors, the warriors who had placed their lives in his hands.

Another wave of arrows flew; more stifled cries of pain.

"Those carrying the injured, follow Astaldir and head towards the nearest cave! The rest fall back! We need to buy some time!" the order was carried to the rest and many continued to speed forwards whilst the rest fell to the back of the group, protecting the elves from the back. As they passed through a wider opening of a narrow path, Glorfindel gave the order for the uninjured to stop and hide in the nearby bushes and small crevices. They would have to ambush them there. It was their only chance.

The remaining elves waited; it seemed to take eternity. The snow fell on everyone and everything and the quiet warriors blended slowly into the surroundings. As Glorfindel looked at the snow, a strange mix of feelings churned in him—relieved that perhaps the snow and wind could cover their trails yet worried that they would eventually be trapped in this white landscape, separated from others and doomed to die.

Time was short. Very short.

Every second mattered.

-To be continued-


	3. Chapter 3

**First Warnings**

Author's Note: Thank you to all those who are still reading this story, and special thanks goes out once more to my reviewers :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or anything, except my own ideas.

Here's the story:

**Chapter 3**

They came. There was no mistaking it: the stomping of running feet, the swift footsteps of wargs, all thundering towards the pass. The warriors gripped their weapons tight, bracing themselves for the ultimate fight. A snarl could be heard from the orcs as they pushed on, faster than before, unfazed by the increasing snow and wind. The blizzard did not impede them.

As soon as the first orc passed the narrow pass, the elves sprang upon them, attacking them ferociously. There were many strangled cries of pain as swords and daggers found their mark and occasionally, some savage shouts of joy as an injury was scored upon an elf. Everyone was fighting to their best ability but the orcs came relentlessly and as each orc was felled, another soon took its place. Elves could fight well and had very high endurance; yet elves do also tire, and in the fight against both the orcs and the blizzard threatening to blind them, some already felt their strength starting to leave them.

Minutes passed and very soon, every elf found themselves surrounded by no less than three orcs each. It had become a battle of wits and strategy, for whilst the elves took advantage of the territory, the orc army was too large for them. Glorfindel knew that perhaps the only chance of winning this fight was to defeat the leader, yet, surrounded by numerous extremely burly and skilled orcs which could take his life if he was not concentrating, he could take no breather to identify exactly which orc was the leader, let alone defeat it. As he once again narrowly missed an orc's blade, it suddenly occurred to him that these orcs were amongst the best fighters he had fought against. Had Mordor suddenly bred a new band of stronger orcs? Or were they bent on getting him only?

The orc at his right shrieked and fell, and a familiar face came into view.

"My Lord. Find the leader," rasped the figure in front of him. Erestor. Glorfindel nodded and after a swift move of his sword, decapitating another orc, he broke out of the group of orcs and climbed onto a small ledge nimbly. He strained his ears and eyes to look for the leader and it was not long later when he identified him sitting on top of a warg, a bow and arrow in hand.

He saw the leader just in time, for the arrow was already aiming at him, just as he was targeting it.

Two leaders, a one to one fight, neither able to afford defeat.

He saw the arrow being released and flew towards him. However, orcs after all do not have elven sight and skill and the arrow, swayed by the wind, flew past him, missing his face by mere inches. Glorfindel steadied himself, strung two arrows rapidly and fired.

Bullseye.

The leader gave a loud yelp and the orcs paused, confused. The elves took this opportunity and struck at full force, causing more confusion and fear amongst the orcs. Some started to flee, and even the strongest and fiercest fighters quivered at the sight of the renowned Balrog Slayer in his full form, sword at hand, glowing slightly as power and might emanated from him.

Very soon, the valley was cleared of orcs, leaving only the remaining elves to survey their surroundings. Glorfindel did a quick count on his warriors. Most were still in sight and many were injured, yet as his eyes strayed on to the battlefield, he saw that two of them were already beyond help. A waved of sadness engulfed him as he grieved for the warriors who had lost their lives.

"Erestor!"

Upon hearing that distressed cry, Glorfindel turned his head sharply and he saw an elf collapsing on to the ground, his right hand holding a sword, supporting his body. His long raven hair hid his features, but Glorfindel thought he saw pain contorting the junior councillor's face. He ran towards him and supported him as he fell forwards. Yet, as Glorfindel saw his armour, he went cold, and he was not sure if he would survive the battle after all.

There was a ghastly slash across the back plate from the left torso to the right hip, the sharp weapon slicing through the armour like butter. Glorfindel could not tell how deep it was or if there were any other injuries as the armour was still on and he was not going to take it off an injured elf in the middle of a blizzard. What he knew, however, was that blood was flowing out rapidly and life was leaving him equally quickly.

"My… Lord…" gasped the junior councillor as he tried to steady himself. "Go! I do not… want to be a burden… Tell Lord Elrond… I am sorry…" with that, his voice trailed away and his body went limp.

"To the caves! Quickly!

-To be continued-


	4. Chapter 4

**First Warnings**

Author's Note: Thank you for those who are reading this story! :) I am not sure of some weather phenomenon though, so do correct me if I am wrong :)

Sorry for the late update!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or anything, just my own ideas.

**Chapter 4**

Through the snow and against the blasting wind, the small elven group trudged through the snow, guiding what remaining horses they could gather through the terrain. It was dangerous getting caught in a blizzard in the valley, for one did not know what rocks might just suddenly strike down from above. The winds also prevented them from travelling too fast and the elements were beginning to have its effect on the more seriously injured elves.

It was after many hours of trekking when the small group finally met up with the rest of the elves. Indeed, the winds had been howling so strongly and the snow so thick that Glorfindel might have just missed them had he not seen the small glow of fire and the repeated shouts of his fellow warriors. They had met up with them enthusiastically, only to be drained of the happiness when they saw the loss of two of their fellow warriors and a very possible third one should he not receive medical attention soon.

The necessary equipment was laid out immediately, yet as the healers among them saw Erestor's condition, their faces darkened considerably. Meticulously, they took off the armour and the clothing underneath, careful not to aggravate the wound. It was still bleeding, and though it was not as profusely as before, Glorfindel knew that it was substantial enough to kill the young elf if it was not stopped soon. The wound was deep and had only just missed the important internal organs, but what was perhaps most shocking was that for some reason, the innate healing ability of elves had not seemed to take place…

"Poison?" suggested one, "several poisons have been known to stop elves from healing, leaving them to bleed to death."

"But we do not know the antidote, and even if we do, I do not think we have it in our packs. This is not any usual poison. We have to get him back to Rivendell."

Glorfindel's heart lurched slightly as he heard the news. He knew that he should not have let the young elf (nor anyone, honestly) take on so many of those orcs at once—he should have ordered him to assassinate the leader and taken care of those orcs himself instead. Yet it was too late for any reproach, and if he could do anything to help now, it was to bring him to help quickly. With that, Glorfindel did a quick mental calculation. Should this blizzard prevail, going back to Rivendell by the route they came would take at least one week but they would be safer. Going forwards would take at least three days at full speed, yet unknown dangers lay ahead, especially as he was not sure if he could afford engaging the group in another battle.

One life against the lives of many.

"We will take the route from which we came," came the order.

"But my Lord, his injury—"started Astaldir, the second-in-command.

"I cannot afford to risk all of your lives for him!" Glorfindel retorted, before continuing quietly, "we have no choice."

"But my Lord, we also do not now know what dangers lie at the back," persuaded Astaldir relentlessly, "it might be safer for us to proceed to the Southern Gate as planned, but taking a detour to the well-used trade route instead. It will take us only five days."

Glorfindel looked quickly at the rest of the warriors, seeking their opinion. Whilst he was comfortable with the idea, he did not want any elf to walk into danger unwillingly when there was a safer option available, for no matter how safe the trade route might have been, the direction they were walking at would lead them directly to the general place from which the orcs had come. At this crucial time, disagreement was the last thing he wanted.

It thus came as a great relief to him when the rest also agreed to this plan. And so, a few hours later in the slightly abated blizzard, a group of elven warriors could be seen rushing off on the horses that were left, never breaking their formation and constantly protecting those in the middle fervently.

**-To be continued-**


	5. Chapter 5

**First Warnings**

A/N: Thank you for still supporting this story!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of anything, just my own ideas. The unfamiliar names are those that I cooked up randomly.

**Chapter Five**

Elrond stared worriedly at the scenery outside. It had been snowing non-stop for more than four days now, and although the snow did not cause much trouble in the city, Elrond could sense that beyond the current boundaries of Rivendell, trouble ensued. Moreover, he needed no foresight to know that the thick grey clouds glooming above the forest would surely send something close to a snowstorm to any scouting mission there—in particular, the one led by Glorfindel.

For the tenth time, he turned away from the window and tried to concentrate on the piece of document in front of him. Yet Elrond knew that that would be futile, for his mind weighed heavily upon the fact that two of what would most likely by important players in Imladris' future was caught in a blizzard beyond the boundaries of Rivendell. As he stared at the clouds above the forest, he knew that something was amiss—such blizzards that came suddenly at this time of the year were not natural. It was sorcery, and it became increasingly clear to him that someone seemed to be bent on destroying the elves out there. Surely it could not be coincidental that this freak phenomenon would befall upon the group, which had set out at one of the safest time of the year with the best warriors in Imladris? Had some sorcerer guessed the importance of particularly two elves in the group?

Suddenly, a rush of footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs and the door to his office was flung open hurriedly by a flushed face messenger who had obviously just came back from outside.

"My Lord," the messenger managed to squeeze out as he struggled continuously for breath, "the healing rooms. Poison—danger—death—"

Elrond waved the messenger and his incoherent words away and dashed towards the healing rooms. Although the messenger had not told him where the injured elf was, he was sure that he would be in the emergency room, as was always the case when he was called. The rest of the healers could handle anything less.

As he entered the room, his heart shamefully leapt a little as he saw that the elf in question was not a golden haired one. Yet as he took a closer look at the elf, he let out a small gasp and renewed worry washed over him.

Erestor. The newest addition to the council and the one with the greatest potential.

He could not lose him yet. Rivendell could not lose him yet.

"Tatharon, how is he?" questioned Elrond immediately as he got himself ready.

"He has lost a great deal of blood, my lord. There is a deep cut across his back and what appears to be an arrow injury on his right chest, which had been pulled out. None of his injuries are healing."

"None? A poison must have already seeped through his body. Have you sent the other healers to look for an antidote?"

"Yes, my Lord. But I fear I cannot do much now. None of the herbs are working, and I cannot seem to call him back."

"I will try." With that, Elrond grabbed a handful of athelas and crushed the plants, slathering the solution on the wounds. Slightly satisfied, he slipped his hand onto Erestor's forehead and concentrated upon the limp figure on the table.

"Erestor… Come back to the light…"

* * *

He was tired. So very tired.

Light. Shining into his eyes.

_Disturbing_, he thought, _can I please get some rest?_

A familiar voice began to rise as the light became brighter. And then there were hands reaching out for his, as if trying to pull him towards the light.

_No…_ but he resisted less now, for part of his consciousness had kicked in and was now telling him that this voice was a voice of authority and had to be heeded. But he knew not who. He turned his mind over the matter briefly, and suddenly the answer hit him.

_Lord Elrond? _He asked weakly.

_Come... back… _the voice continued, slowly and dare he say, pleadingly?

_Rivendell needs you._

The three words rang in him and he startled, his desire for sleep half driven away. He had pledged to serve the city, his home… yet one less must not matter. There are so many capable elves now…

_Come back._

_There are others, are there not? Others that are more capable than I am…they are enough._

_I know full well your abilities, Erestor, and I say that Rivendell needs you. Is this not enough for you to try?_

Erestor gave a small nod and stood up, yet as he did so, he suddenly felt his head spinning and fell again. He was weak, very weak… but there was a certain stubbornness in him that did not want to give up… wasn't there?

_It is so hard, my Lord._

_But you are too stubborn to give up, _came the reply, full of amusement and yet also concern.

With clenched teeth, Erestor drew in a deep breath and grasped onto the hands tightly, holding them desperately for support as he tried to stand up.

_Come._

The hands did not let him down. Not even when he faltered as he moved his leaden legs, as if he had not walked in ages. The hands gave him strength.

_I will come back._

**-To be continued-**


	6. Chapter 6

**First Warnings**

A/N: Thank you for still supporting this story, and many thanks to all my reviewers! I've tried my best to check this again, and I hope it is alright. Just... I feel that the dialogue here is a little awkward, but I am at loss as to how to salvage it here. Interesting dialogue is really not my strong point :(

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or anything, just my own ideas.

**Chapter 6**

Finally, Elrond pulled his mind away from Erestor's and collapsed into a nearby chair, utterly exhausted.

"My Lord!" came Glorfindel's worried voice, and before long, Elrond felt himself being led to the comfortable visitor's chair, a glass of water by his side. Elrond took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, willing for strength to return. A brief glance at the clock told him that he had been concentrating for more than an hour, only taking a short break to apply the antidote on the wound. Little wonder then that he felt so exhausted.

"I… am fine," came Elrond's weakened voice. There was silence as Elrond tried to steady himself, drinking a concoction that one of the healers brought over. As strength began to return, the golden-haired warrior's presence started to register in his mind.

"Why are you here?" asked Elrond.

"I came to visit Erestor. He was under my charge, after all. But are you sure you do not need more rest before I speak, my Lord? You look exhausted."

"In a few minutes, I will. But first, I would like to know exactly what happened."

Glorfindel handed a report over. "We were ambushed by orcs in the forest. Not the usual ones—these are stronger and more skilful. Everything seemed very suspicious, as if sorcery was involved… " suggested Glorfindel hesitantly, as if he was searching for some probable answer to the ambush. Collecting himself, he continued, "it was a good thing Erestor noticed them and gave warning. More might have died if the orcs have not been spotted."

Elrond nodded. "Within these few days, I too have sensed some foreign presence around Imladris that would not be wise to ignore. We will bring it up to the council tomorrow. Have you settled the casualties?"

Glorfindel lowered his eyes. They had been like brothers to him. "Yes, my Lord," he reply, pain filling his voice. Looking at Erestor's unconscious form, he hesitated before continuing, "Will there... will there be a third one?"

"Nay, he lives. His stubbornness made him cling on until we found an antidote. He is safe now."

At these words, Glorfindel gave a sigh of relief. "Some good news at last."

"Indeed. But this ambush troubles me deeply. I have sent news this incident out to the other realms. I wonder if Gil galad or Elendil will call us soon."

"Judging by the orcs we faced, I pray we may not yet be too late."

* * *

_An arrow. Heading towards their captain; aiming for his heart. _

_The captain cannot die. He was the head of their company; there will be no hope of any of them returning if he dies!_

_The arrow shot its way across, nearing the captain every second. The arrow cannot hit him—the arrow must be deflected or taken. _

_The arrow was taken. Yet just as his body almost doubled over with pain, an orc had taken advantage of his pain and attacked him. Enraged, he had torn the arrow out of him and ended the orc's life with a thrust of the arrow into his ribs, followed by a ruthless stab with his dagger._

_A brief glance told him that everyone was in trouble. There was not much time for any of them left._

_"__My Lord. Find the captain." He had said. Their captain had given him a nod and had proceeded to get the best vantage point—and incidentally also the point from where he was most vulnerable._

_As he ended the miserable life of yet another orc, he prayed the enemy may not have spotted the captain, but it was futile. He heard the arrow whiz past…_

"My Lord!" with that cry, Erestor bolted upright, drawing in a deep breath and wincing as he did so, before collapsing back onto the bed as a bout of dizziness hit him.

"Erestor!" gasped the healer to his right. He rushed over to his bedside and began to check the bandages again. "Lie down please."

"Is captain Glorfindel alright? Did we make it back to Imladris?"

The healer gave a nod and a reassuring smile. "You are in Imladris."

"Oh." More events flooded back to him again, and he remembered seeing most of the companions alive as the orcs fled away. He gave a sigh of relief, eyes straying over to the ornate decorations on the wall, not able to rest well again after the dream. The decorations calmed him down immensely, as do the portraits, for each spoke of history and lore, telling its own story that Erestor knew very well. As he was admiring the workmanship of the last portrait, however, a glass of water covered his view. Erestor, a little surprised to have visitors, whipped his head up (which caused a moment of dizziness), and a golden haired elf came into view.

"Drink," he said, "it will do you good."

Suddenly realising how thirsty he was, Erestor accepted the glass gratefully as the visitor sat on the chair next to him.

"I owe you an apology, Erestor. I should not have let you deal with those orcs alone."

"My Lord—"

"Glorfindel will do."

"—it was absolutely necessary. I did not have enough experience to find the leader, and could have lost my life as I stood on the top, vulnerable to arrows below."

Glorfindel looked into Erestor's eyes and saw the conviction behind the councillor's words, which his rational mind had started to agree with as the words sank in. His heart lightened a little, but guilt still lingered, for there was something else he needed to thank this elf for.

"Perhaps," answered Glorfindel, "But for sure I owe you a big thank you too, Erestor, for that arrow you took that was meant for me. It is not any elf who would take that arrow willingly."

"Any elf from Rivendell would, for all appreciate your contribution to the safety of the refuge."

"You are too kind," a pause; then, "You show great courage and quick thinking, Erestor. Had Lord Elrond not already took you to be a councillor, I would willingly include you amongst Rivendell's best warriors." At this, he saw the surprise lighting up the councillor's face and smiled. "Still, I must be content," he continued, "I will look forward to working with you—"

"Which will be soon, if he gets his rest," came Elrond's voice, at which Erestor startled a little. Erestor was about to make a small bow when all formalities were waved away by Elrond. "I come only to check on you, Erestor. I have heard from the healer that you are awake, and I am glad to see his words ring through."

"Yes, my Lord. I feel much better now," came the answer.

Elrond gave a nod and handed a cup of tea over. Satisfied to see his patient downing the tea without any complains, he said, "Nevertheless, we will leave you to your rest. I believe we shall need your input very soon. Do rest now."

Erestor gave a small nod as he relaxed. Weariness suddenly swept over him (_was it the tea? _he thought wearily, trying to aim a glare at Elrond but failing), and it was then that the last words which he had heard from the light rang in his head.

_Rest now, Erestor._

_I will._

-To be continued-


	7. Chapter 7

**First Warnings**

A/N: Thank you to all those who have supported my story thus far, and a big thank you to all my reviewers (and the person who favourited my story!) because I really love reviews :) This is chapter 7, -finally- the end of the story and probably a big relief to those who didn't really enjoy it but for some reason are still reading it. If you're one of these people, or you know how to improve this story, please please please leave me a review with your comments and improvements or you could PM me :) The comments will help me with my future stories :)

Disclaimer: I, once again, don't own the characters or anything, except my own ideas.

**Chapter 7**

"You are awake."

Erestor looked bleary-eyed at his surroundings, barely registering anything. He gave an automatic reply as he tried to sit himself up, mumbling a thank you as someone in the room helped him up. As his eyes and ears accustomed themselves to the environment, however, he realised that the one who had been talking to him was none other than Elrond.

"My Lord," he greeted hurriedly.

"Lie back, Erestor. How are you feeling?"

"A little weak, but otherwise alright. I can think more clearly now," replied Erestor. He felt a wave of gratitude overwhelm him as Elrond did a quick examination on his bandages and checked his vital signs—not all leaders would spend their time and energy tending to their people! Yet, as he remembered the many times he had seen Elrond surveying the villages and helping those in need, he should not be surprised. Was that not why he had decided to dedicate his life to serving his city under this lord in the first place?

Satisfied that Erestor's innate healing ability had kicked in, Elrond handed him a bowl of porridge along with some reports and letters. There was a short period of silence as Erestor scanned through the first report and Elrond waited to hear his opinion on the matter.

"Sauron is actively gathering his armies again," came Erestor's voice as he sat the first report aside.

Elrond gave a silent nod. "We have gathered as much. However as you know, we do not have the armies to match against Sauron, should Mordor decide to strike. The council is thinking of forming an alliance amongst the elves."

"No," said Erestor unhesitatingly as he sat aside the reports and started leafing through the letters from the other elven realms.

Elrond raised his eyebrows a little. "No?"

"No, my Lord. The Elves alone do not have the strength to deal with Sauron," explained Erestor. Sensing that Elrond was waiting for his elaboration, he continued, "the orcs have become more skilful, and with an increase in number, we need more alliances." A pause; then, "we need to involve Men."

"An alliance? It would not be easy."

"In the past, perhaps. But Elendil has been on talking terms with Gil-galad. If an alliance is not forged now, there perhaps might never be. Now is the chance, my Lord," said Erestor resolutely, his eyes following Elrond as the latter moved to the window, brows furrowed in thought, "only by uniting do we stand a chance against Sauron."

"That is true, but—"

Elrond's words were cut short as a sharp rap on the door came, and a messenger entered after getting an acknowledgement. The messenger gave a deep bow and handed a letter to Elrond before taking his leave. Under Erestor's questioning gaze, Elrond opened the letter and read it over quickly. Erestor's curiosity grew as he saw Elrond's unmasked amusement on his features.

"My Lord?" ventured Erestor quietly.

"It seems that Gil-galad shares the same sentiments as you do," replied Elrond as he finished reading the letter and passed it to Erestor. Erestor scanned through it and smiled wryly.

"A representative from Imladris?" asked Erestor, looking up from the letter at his lord not without anticipation. This would, after all, be his first major assignment should Elrond allowed him to go.

Elrond hesitated a little. Gil-galad wanted this first meeting to be held soon, but looking at Erestor's pale features, he was not sure if he would be fit enough to represent the city. Yet, he saw also Erestor's anticipation and knowing his ability, he could not deny that Erestor would be a good representative.

"If you feel fit enough, yes," decided Elrond after some thought. "However, are you not worried that the other representatives will look down upon Rivendell for sending a junior councillor?"

"I have thought of that, my Lord. But I am sure I can do it."

Erestor's determined look put all of Elrond's worries to rest. As Elrond turned to leave the healing room, he gave Erestor a pat on the shoulder. "Rest well, then. We will need you."

"Thank you, my Lord!" came the excited, albeit still a little exhausted, reply. Yet, underneath his excitement, Erestor knew exactly the enormity of what he was getting himself into. This alliance, should it happen, would give them a good chance against Mordor and with this, a major battle will ensue, a battle of such proportions that would culminate in the end of this Age. He knew that he could not afford to fail.

Erestor took a deep breath and beheld the encoded message in his hand. It would not be an easy task.

_Yet I am too stubborn to give up._

And the rest is history.

**-The End-**


End file.
